


on the right bank of the seine

by bubbleteabunny



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/pseuds/bubbleteabunny
Summary: Diana likes to people watch. Today she watches you.





	on the right bank of the seine

This morning Diana’s walk to work is quiet, as it usually is. Her boots click quietly on the concrete as she makes her way down Rue de Rivoli. It’s cloudy, but lately the day has always started out as such, and then given way to clear skies and a welcoming sun as the hours went on. She inhales deeply, smiling as she takes in the crisp, cool air. Every day she makes this walk it’s like seeing everything with fresh eyes. At this time, there aren’t many tourists up and about yet. It’s only those on their way to work.

The Napoleon Courtyard is empty when she arrives. The fountains are switched on, and they gurgle quietly. Diana greets the receptionists and other employees in the lobby when she steps into the museum lobby. Her steps are curt, footfalls echoing in the large pyramid and accompanied by hushed voices of others on their way to their offices. She turns on the lights when she gets to hers, and sets her bag on the ground by her desk. She shrugs her coat off and drapes it over the back of her chair before she takes a seat, proceeding to check the e-mails she’d gotten after she left yesterday.

The Louvre opens at 9 AM. Because Diana arrives so early, she never sees the line which grows in the lobby, excitable and lively tourists shuffling around between stanchions as they wait to buy their tickets. She doesn’t doubt that it’s quite the sight. People from all over the world meet at this center of art. For all she knows, two people standing next to each other in line could be from opposite sides of the globe.

When she finishes going over her emails and reviewing the documents sitting on her desk, most of which are about the new pieces expected to come to her department within the next week, she likes to go see the crowds. Enough time has passed since opening that the rooms are busy, tours flitting through, classes sitting on the wooden floors as a guide teaches them about the painting on the wall which stretches from the floor all the way to the ceiling.

Diana smiles as she takes in the visitors, watches as some take pictures; read the little card next to the painting which has all the technical information; or have discussions about a piece—about its artist, about the time period it’s from. It’s beautiful to see this coming together, this appreciation of art, an activity that crosses cultures. One doesn’t need to know a certain language when they look at these paintings. They need only their eyes and a heart willing to feel what the artist felt when they created these wondrous oeuvres—that passion which drives man to paint a picture, to paint their soul.

It’s not hard to tell which room contains the  _Mona Lisa_. There’s a sea of people to wade through in that area. The portrait is kept behind a wall of bulletproof glass to defend against any attacks. Diana sticks to the back of the room and she can just barely see the painting from here, peeking out over the heads of those who crowd around it. She sighs quietly and glances at the opposite wall— _The_   _Wedding at Cana_ hangs proudly in all its vibrant coloring, but only a few pay it any mind. It’s the largest canvas in the museum’s collection. Her eyes rove over the expanse as she walks past it and into the next room. It’s an incredible piece. She wishes more people would notice it. Perhaps one day.

The crowd is much thinner in the next room. The click of camera shutters is distinctly absent here. There’s a tour that’s just on their way out, which leaves only small groups: families and couples dotted around. She spots you on the far side of the room, back to her as you sit on a bench facing one of the smaller paintings. She knows which one it is, and she’ll admit not many focus on it. Not when there are many other larger pieces to its left or its right. It’s easy to overlook. Quietly she makes her way closer, and when she’s within range she notices you’re hunched over slightly, a small sketchbook in your lap. The blue lead you use makes it hard to see the picture clearly from where she is, especially beneath the glare of the lights, but she can tell well enough that it’s of the painting in front of you.

“That’s very beautiful,” she compliments softly so as not to disrupt the silence.

You glance up and smile sheepishly, shrugging offhandedly. “Oh, this? It’s nothing special. But thanks.”

She smiles back and walks closer, eyes focused on the piece on the wall. “Are you a fan of Gainsborough?”

“I have no favorites. Every painting here is amazing.”

“May I?” Diana points at the bench.

“Of course.” You nod quickly, scooting over slightly so you’re not in the center. The two of you sit there in silence, admiring the painting which isn’t more than 2 feet tall.

“Do you often draw paintings you see?” Diana asks, motioning to your sketchbook.

“Among other things. Sometimes when I’m at the aquarium I’ll draw the fish. I’ve drawn some of the statues in the Jardin des Tuileries too.”

“You’re talented.” Diana feels she’s stating the obvious, but you’d brushed off her earlier comment, so she wants to say it, to drive home just how much skill you have and how special that is. “Do you draw them just because they catch your eye, or have you researched them before?”

“Whatever catches my eye. Although I do like to do a bit of research when I find what I want to draw next.” You hold up your phone, smiling slightly.

Diana smiles and points to the Gainsborough painting. “And what can you tell me about this one?”

You purse your lips as you look at the piece, trying to remember what you’d read when you first sat down and looked it up. “ _Conversation in a Park_ by Thomas Gainsborough was created in 1745. It’s something called a ‘conversation piece,’ which demonstrates the influence of French art on English aesthetics in the eighteenth century. The landscape is very reminiscent of Gainsborough’s style.” That’s about all you can recall. You glance at Diana to find her smile has widened.

“Impressive.”

“I try,” you respond playfully.

Diana doesn’t remember seeing you around before. The Louvre is large, yes, but she does work here, and if you’ve stopped by more than once, she reckons she should have at least seen you during one of your visits. But you’re a new face. “I’m Diana.” Admittedly she doesn’t speak with many visitors. The most had been answering questions about a painting they might have been looking at and she happened to be passing by at the time. Never did the conversation veer in a direction where she felt she should introduce herself.

“[Name],” you tell her, eyes bright and friendly. You hold your hand out, and when she takes hold of it to shake, her grip is firm. It does catch you a little off guard—most people whose hands you shake don’t put much force behind it. You always wonder why.

“It was very nice to meet you, [Name]. But I’m afraid I must get back to work. They may wonder where I’ve gone,” Diana jokes.

You wave your hand. “No problem. I’ll just be here drawing.” You motion to your sketchbook and chuckle.

Diana stands as she asks “Will I be seeing more of you?”

“Do you want to see me around more?” You look at her as you push your glasses up slightly so they rest more comfortably on the bridge of your nose.

She doesn’t hesitate with her answer. “I do.”

Her response elicits a shy smile from you and you look away momentarily, trying to fend off the warmth in your cheeks, but to no avail. You meet her eyes again. “Then yes. You will.”

Her gaze is warm and her smile kind as the sun. “Wonderful.”

You watch as she walks out of the room and disappears around the corner, and sigh when she’s out of sight. You look back down at your current sketch. You’d drawn the man and woman in the painting but had yet to start on the environment. You look up at  _Conversation in the Park_ , noting the tree behind the bench, and when you return your attention to your drawing, you get as far as outlining the trunk before you stop.

This isn’t nearly as exciting as talking with Diana. You bite your lip as you give one more glance at the Gainsborough painting, then turn to a new page in your sketchbook. Even though you hadn’t been conversing with Diana long, you think you memorized the features of her face quite well. You’re not sure how much longer you’re sitting there, drawing her, burning her image into your brain, but you look so deep in concentration that no one bothers you.


End file.
